


Death, and Other Revolving Doors

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, PTSD, Porn, Reincarnation, Universe Alteration, Vague Descriptions of the Cage, there are some other ships in here if you wear your shipper goggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gabriel ran away from Heaven, the angels sent the soul he helped create down to Earth. When the soul met Gabriel, he only lived long enough to fall in love with him before dying, presenting Gabriel with the opportunity to come home every twenty years. </p><p>Gabriel's gotten very good at avoiding Sam for as long as possible, but this time, he isn't sure if he wants to. Because this might be the last time he sees Sam Winchester at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death, and Other Revolving Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post: http://fandom-trickster.tumblr.com/post/83656863299/heaven-au-when-gabriel-ran-away-from-heaven  
> This thing spiraled out of control. I was supposed to be doing homework, and instead I decided to finish this thing. I hope all you fuckers are happy.

Gabriel sees him first, from a window when he pulls up to the building he’s ‘working’ as a janitor at. He looks the same as he always does, with enormous limbs and miles of golden skin, the weight of loss in his eyes. His heart constricts, just a little. Sam looks so close to that dying age, so close to the way he always looks whenever the inevitable rolls around. It hurts Gabriel to know that he’s gotten so good at running from him that he’s managed to put it off this long. How much time does he have left? A year? No, less than that. Six months? Three?

Sam is bickering with Dean as they get out of the car, something about a prank that had been _seriously, not cool_ , in Dean’s words. Sam argues that his brother was just getting what he deserved, and oh, his words couldn’t be more on target than that. Gabriel looks at him from the window and then moves away, heart in his throat. He should leave. He should – he should leave, now, should probably run to Dubai or Tokyo or Egypt, somewhere Sam in this lifetime would never end up, because if he stays then he’s going to have to watch him die.

~~Just like the last hundred thousand times.~~

But he stays, and talks to Sam, and does his job. He plays tricks on them, allows them to that think he’s dead, and lets them walk out of his world once again. He knows where Sam is now, though. That’s part of this curse – once they meet, he always knows where Sam is, and if he thinks about it, Sam knows where _he_ is. And that is always, _always_ what leads to his inevitable demise.

* * *

He feels Sam die, and slaughters a thousand despicable bastards in the three days before their connection suddenly flares back into life and makes him stop short in the middle of a speech. The hellhounds he’d conjured leap on the rapist viciously, but he’s too distracted to care.

Sam shouldn’t be here. He _shouldn’t._ Gabriel’s brothers know that he’s alive, even if they don’t know where he is, and they want him home, but they can’t just rush a soul through for reincarnation like this without good reason (i.e. Jesus). There are piles and piles of celestial paperwork to sort through, and the matter of waiting to see if Gabriel would finally – _finally_ – follow him back home. For him to be back so soon means either that they really want him back, or…

Or that it’s starting.

Gabriel is there beside Sam instantly, invisible. Yup, Dean’s soul has been bound with a contract and there’s a special level of pain and guilt and self-blame that he hasn’t seen Sam reach before. It makes his heart do terrible, painful things that make him wish cutting the offending organ out would actually remove all of its unpleasant feels as well. This is awesome, really, the world is going to end which means – the revelation slams into him harder than a semi into Bambi.

The world is ending, which means this is the last time he gets to see Sam. Unless, of course, he goes home.

He doesn’t even know what to do with, doesn’t even know how to process it, so Gabriel does what he _always_ does.

He runs.

* * *

He’ll admit that the Mystery spot hasn’t exactly been his finest piece of work. The time loop? Flawless, but not exactly original. And Sam hardly deserved his attentions, to tell the truth, even if he was going to take a steep downwards spiral with that Ruby chick. But he could excuse it; after all, he was just trying to hammer some sense through the kid’s thick skull!

If he was really being honest, Gabriel would admit that yes, this was revenge, of a sort. It isn’t that he wants Sam to suffer, not really. He wants him to know how it _feels_ to watch what you love most in the world break and die, to have to keep on living on the same hunk of rock and watch it happen over and over and _over_ again. Gabriel has watched Sam be torn apart by lions in the Coliseum,  has watched him die in battles between tribes and cities and countries, has watched him be shot down by bandits and soldiers, has watched hot metal tear his flesh and shatter his bones. He has watched Sam _die_ a million ways in a million different times, never in the same place, never the same way. It’s only fair, he thinks viciously, that Sam knows what that feels like, what that _does_ to someone.

He wasn’t quite expecting the severity of Sam’s reaction. In all his lifetimes, Gabriel has never watched Sam be forced to fight for what he loves, has never watched Sam lose it anyway. He’s never suspected the terrifying amount of pure, vindictive _rage_ in his heart; it normally lies in wait, coiled like a snake in the brush, waiting patiently for something young and tender to walk by. But now it’s springing and hissing and fighting with a nigh on suicidal recklessness, but still tightly leashed and _controlled_ , and it’s all directed at _him._

So he deals with it. He snaps and argues and glares. But when Sam starts to cry, let’s go of just that tiny fraction of control and flat out _begs_ for Dean’s life…he can’t deny him. So he lets Sam wake on Wednesday, and lets him drive out of the parking lot with Dean, and watches him go.

* * *

He keeps his distance as best he can after that. Gabriel knows Sam won’t want to see him again in this lifetime, or any time after that. This is Sam’s last life, unless something drastic happens, but it won’t. Michael is determined and Lucifer is determined and they’ll do this with or without Gabriel in attendance. Gabriel’s sort of glad, actually, because he  _likes_ this planet. No one else can play his Horn, or use his sigil quite as effectively as he can, so Michael and Lucifer will simply cut it out of their plans. The Dragon will go unraised, the seas will remain salty and cold, and sinners will be passed over by the Angel of Death. And most of Earth will – physically – be spared. Hurricanes and tornadoes and earthquakes are nothing it hasn’t faced before, hasn’t lost lives to before.

But Sam isn’t going to want to see him again. Gabriel killed Dean a hundred times. Sam isn’t going to want to be within a thousand miles of Gabriel, and the archangel is happy to let him stay away.

~~That’s a giant fucking lie, of course, but after so many deaths, even acknowledging affection towards Sam is painful.~~

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when Sam and Dean show up in a town where he’s been indulging in Marvel comics. It’s even more surprising that Sam is as calm as he is, given everything that’s happened. They actually want Gabriel’s _help._ His instant reaction is _hell fucking no_ , and despite something whispering in his ear that maybe this can be the end of a long damn road, he maintains it. Sam and Dean leave him in the warehouse, stoic faced and wet, and even after the circle of flame is gone, Gabriel stands there for _hours._ He mulls over their words and his thoughts and his thoroughly battered heart for what feels like ages.

He pops in on one of Sam’s dreams, a week later. Sam’s aware of him instantly, turning to face him with disbelief sketched onto his face. He doesn’t say anything, not right away, which gives Gabriel a chance to study him. His hair is longer than it’s ever been, and his eyes are old and tired. There’s a weight on his shoulders that even Atlas would bend under, built of self-loathing, guilt and regret, depression, and a fierce determination to do whatever needs to be done – even at the cost of his own life, or possibly his soul.

That last tidbit makes Gabriel want to run and scream and thrash some douchebags around. But instead he just says, “Hey Sam.” Just _Sam_ , not Samsquatch or Samoose or Gigantor; just Sam, so that way he knows Gabriel is being serious.

Sam tilts his head, shoving hands into his pockets, and frowns. “What are you doing here, Gabriel?” He isn’t angry, or suspicious. Just curious, a little wary, a little sad.

“I – I don’t actually know,” he admits, looking at the floor. He’s sitting on top of a desk in what looks like an old cabin. There are books on the shelves and a pizza sitting on the table and a dog napping on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about what you and Dean said,” he confesses, still staring at the floor. Honesty isn’t something he’s ever been good at, but nothing else will do when it comes to Sam. Sam _deserves_ honesty from him.

Being this close to Sam makes his emotions easier to read (and he’s easier to read than most people, even from a distance, thanks to his hand in making Sam’s soul) and the pure tidal wave of _hope_ that slams into him would have knocked a lesser angel off of his perch. “What d’you mean?” Sam asks, leaning on the back of an armchair. That hope is growing, and it’s such a pure, untainted thing that Gabriel wants to hold it close and cherish it.

“I mean I’ve been thinking,” he snaps, because damnit, this is _stressful._ He starts to pace in a small circle. “But I don’t know what to do! They’re my brothers, Sam, and they want to murder each other more than anything else in or out of this world, and I can’t stop them. They aren’t going to stop no matter what I do. And – and I can’t fight them,” he says suddenly, stomach full of lead. “Dad help me, I _can’t_ , which is why I can’t help you because I know that’s what you need to do, but – but I can’t kill them. I’ve done a lot of things, Sam, and I don’t plan on adding fratricide to that list unless they try and kill me first. I want to help but I don’t know how and – and –“

Gabriel realizes he’s panicking, his hands destroying his hair and his breath coming to fast and _shitshitshitneedtoleaveneedtoleaveneedto –_

“Gabriel,” Sam is there, suddenly, in front of him, one enormous paw resting on his shoulder. “Gabriel, breathe.” It’s such a simple instruction, and Gabriel is grateful for it. Sam isn’t telling him to calm down, just asking him to breathe. He does, takes a few gulping lungfuls of air, and tries to keep breathing, tries to focus and relax. Sam nods encouragingly. “Good,” he praises. “Good, Gabriel. Just keep breathing, alright?” Sam – damn him – looks concerned, rubs his hands up and down Gabriel’s shoulders soothingly. Gabriel does as he’s asked, slowly calming and relaxing until his head feels clear.

Sam leads him over to the couch and sits down beside him. The dog – the tags name him _Bones_ – barks excitedly once and rests his head in Gabriel’s lap. There are mugs of hot chocolate and cookie straws on the table now too, and Sam hands him a glass of the hot liquid, a cookie resting in cup. Gabriel isn’t sure if he should laugh or scream because apparently, on some level, Sam _remembers_ him. It was something Gabriel had always hoped, but had never really been sure of, because Sam usually didn’t normally live this long after the connection formed.

Sam sips at a cup of hot chocolate himself, his leg resting against Gabriel’s. And then he seems to gather himself. “Do you mind if I talk?” he asks, voice quiet and calm. Gabriel can only nod. “What you’re afraid of here is being forced to kill your brothers, or having to watch them kill each other, right? You’re afraid that that’s what Dean and I would ask you to do. And you’re not wrong – that’s exactly what we were planning on asking.” Gabriel’s hands start shaking a little and Sam hurries on. “Hold on, hold on, I’m not done, okay? Just listen. So yes, that’s what we’d ask of you, but the whole point of our side is to say fuck you to fate and God and everybody else. Our side is saying _no._ So if you say no to that, then it’s fine. You don’t need to kill your brothers, Gabe. No one is going to force you to. But you can still _help_ , if you want to,” Sam offers gently, and he sounds timid, almost shy, and Gabriel realizes he’s afraid of triggering him again.

“How?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

Sam grins, and his whole body smiles with him. His shoulders relax, his eyes brighten into clear blue-green, and his soul practically shines. Hope floods through Gabriel again, though it’s less a tsunami and more a small storm now. “Anything,” Sam says, simple as that. “Whatever you feel like you can help with. Translations, resources, spell work, sigils – anything.” There’s a tint of desperation there as well. Gabriel can see why. Team Free Will is losing this war. They don’t have the Host of Heaven or the multitudes of Hell. There’re only three of them, with a number of other hunters scattered around doing bits and pieces where they can. They’re looking for a way to end the Apocalypse, and Gabriel can see that they’re past just looking for a way to kill archangels – they just want the whole thing to be over.

Gabriel can relate to that. _Fuck_ , can he relate to that. But still, he swallows, tilting his cup of hot cocoa to make the soggy cookie spin along the edges. It snaps somewhere in the middle, and plops into the cup. “I need to think about this,” Gabriel mutters, and sets down the cup before flinging himself from Sam’s mind as fast as he possibly could.

He needed to _think._

* * *

Bobby’s house is quiet most mornings. Most mornings, it smells like dust and books, coffee and eggs and bacon, with the sound of creaking wheels a new but unmentioned addition to the crackling of cooking food.

Most mornings are not met with Sam hearing Dean scream out a heartfelt, “ _Holy shit!_ ” and the sound of something breaking. Sam’s up in an instant, heart pounding wildly inside his chest. He snatches Ruby’s knife from under his pillow and bolts down the stairs, Dean’s name half out of his mouth before he chokes on it. The knife clatters to the floor.

Bobby is standing. He’s _standing_ , the chair folded up and leaning against the wall and he’s got a look on his face like he can’t really believe it either.

“Bobby?” Sam breathes, and looks over to Dean, who just looks shell-shocked. “Wha- _How?”_

Bobby shrugs. “I was hoping one of you two idjits could tell me,” he says simply, and drops an envelope on the table. “I tried opening it with everything from scissors to a flame thrower, but it won’t budge, so I’m guessing it’s for one of you two, from whoever fixed my legs.”

Dean shakes himself out of shock as best he can, and picks up the envelope. He tries to tear it, but to no avail. He flicks at Sam, who manages to catch it. Frowning, he flips it over to the front. Black ink scrawls his name elegantly onto it before his disbelieving eyes, and he opens it easily with a thumbnail. He sticks a hand into the letter-sized envelope, wondering who the fuck would have sent this, and pulls out two movie tickets for a theatre in Sioux Falls that’s playing _The Rocky Horror Picture Show._ Dean snatches the tickets from his hands, along with the envelope, and lets Dean look at them.

“Aw, shit,” Dean groans, dropping the papers on the table. “ _Really_? We have to thank _Gabriel?”_

Sam picks up a ticket, inspecting it curiously for a date and finding none while Dean explains who sent the tickets to Bobby. He munches on a piece of toast that he pilfered from a small stack of them and finishes it off before setting down the ticket.

“I guess we’re going to the movies today,” he decides. Dean groans, but nods. He knows they can’t ignore the summons of an archangel, especially not this one. They show up at the theatre in the mid-afternoon. When they hand the attendant their ticket, his eyes glaze over a bit, and instructs them to enter the last theatre in the right hand hall.

When they step inside, they find themselves in a cabin with a blizzard outside. A fire roars in an open hearth, a comfy looking couch in front of it. A kitchen is visible through an archway, a bedroom through an open door, and the only other door seems to be the one blocked by six feet of snow. Dean curses the lack of escape, but follows as Sam carefully ventures into the kitchen.

Gabriel is concocting…something. Sam isn’t sure what it is. It has a lot of chocolate syrup and caramel sauce and raspberries and whipped cream, but Sam has no idea what was supposed to be underneath of all the toppings. He glances up and smirks when they walk in. “Hey boys,” he greets cheerily, waving with a miraculously not-sticky hand.

“What the hell, Gabriel?” Dean demands. He’s pissed and Gabriel is thoroughly unimpressed.

“Be polite, Dean-o,” he says shortly. “I could’ve just snapped you here as soon as I made my choice and we’d be having this conversation with notably less sleep, less clothing, and your friend wouldn’t have functional legs.”

“Thank you, for that,” Sam pushes in hurriedly, trying to preemptively start on the damage control. Dean redirects his glare at his brother and then turns to Gabriel. “What _choice?_ ” he snaps. “You gonna call down your scary big brothers on us, huh?”

Gabriel raises one eyebrow sardonically, and throws a spoonful of whipped cream onto the diabetic monstrosity in front of him. “If I was going to do that, then I wouldn’t have needed to talk to you. I could’ve told any old angel and let them reap the benefits for the rest of eternity. No, I’m talking about my choice to _help_ you two muttonheads, against my better judgment, I might add.”

Dean blinks, taken off guard. Sam smiles, slow and warm, sending out another crest of hope that tries to trip Gabriel up. Dean glances at him, blinks again, and then, “Oh, Christ, don’t tell me you actually believe this bastard.”

Sam looks down at his brother levelly. “I do, actually.”

“Goddamnit, Sam, we’ve talked about this! And why would you, anyways? He killed me, and tried to kill you, and _locked us in a fucking TV!_ ”

“Motive?” Sam asks simply.

Dean screws up his nose. “To trick us into saying yes,” he growls.

“You’re sure about that? Then why the hell would he fix Bobby?” Sam counters. “He hasn’t ever _helped_ anyone, for any reason, that we know of. So why help Bobby?”

“Make us trust him,” Dean answers shortly.

“To bribe us, actually,” Sam corrects. “Get us to come here so we actually have to talk to him.”

“And then he calls down Michael and Lucifer –“

“Why would he blow his own cover like that?” Sam poses raising an eyebrow. “He wants this Apocalypse over as much as we do, but he wasn’t willing to fight it because he’d have to face family. So _why?_ ”

Gabriel watches the whole argument with an amused smirk. He watches as Sam’s logic quickly takes hold in Dean’s brain, and the older Winchester grumbles unhappily. “I’m not dealing with him,” he says shortly, jabbing his finger at Sam. “You want his help so much, you can do that.”

Sam grants his brother with an icy glare. “Fine,” he snaps, crossing his arms unhappily. Despite outward appearances, Gabriel can feel the calculation Sam’s putting into his movements, and resists the urge to grin. Sam’s putting decades of living together to good use, and plays his brother perfectly.

“Are you two done?” Gabriel buts in, glancing between them, “’cause I’m happy to just send you both back without so much as a grain of sand as contribution –“

Dean groans, and bangs his head against the doorframe. “Fine, fine, yes, we’re done,” he mutters, and then glares at Gabriel. “So…now what?”

Sam blinks and they’re in Bobby’s kitchen. Gabriel has a notebook and a pile of scrolls next to him at the table. Dean is holding a cup of coffee and Sam’s holding a fresh cake donut. They glance at each other, then at Gabriel, and switch food items.

“What the _hell_ is he doing in my kitchen?!” Bobby demands, turning into the room and drawing up short.

Gabriel wiggles his fingers at the older hunter in a wave, and laughs.

* * *

After Gabriel managed to convince Dean that the Colt wouldn’t kill Lucifer, and that going after him with it would just be suicide at this point – that argument had gone  _so fucking well_ – they had started looking for ways to trap him instead. Gabriel had mentioned the rings of the Horsemen, but he didn’t truly expect anything to come from it. They already had War’s ring, but Famine, Pestilence, and Death were pretty hard to track down, even for Gabriel, and they decided that facing down against beings that could lay most of them flat and bring one to his knees was probably a bad idea.

Sam had been thinking, though. He’d been thinking some pretty dangerous stuff, if his emotional state was anything to go by. Gabriel can feel a terrifyingly fond sadness, like the kind of thing people treat their dying animals with, when Sam is around anyone he considers family, like they’re going to keel over any day now. But the thing is, is that no one is in immediate danger when he feels that. It’s always in the quiet moments, when Dean and Jo are bickering over the TV channels while Cas watches with a bemused expression, and Bobby and Ellen are sharing a beer. Sam just sits back and soaks in the air of _family_ and _belonging_ with that terrible feeling that leaves Gabriel with an ache of longing and a sharp twist of fear in his chest, because nothing good can come of that, _nothing._

Sam is getting ready for bed one night, the last one upstairs after one such night, and Gabriel can’t take it anymore. He knocks on the door, still half open. The room is dark, and dust motes float through the air in the cloudy light of the crescent moon. They swirl into Sam’s throat as he breathes, and Gabriel just looks at him for a moment, drinks in and appreciates the sight of this man, who has never before lived to be so old and tired and broken in the most tragic of ways.

“Hey,” he says eventually, stepping into the room and leaning gently against the door to close it.

Sam looks at him and that fucking _feeling_ twines itself around Gabriel’s chest like a python, slowly crushing him and pressing the air out of his lungs. And the _look_ on Sam’s face, like Gabriel is something that ought to be thought of fondly and remembered with love and affection and terrible sadness is something that Gabriel wants to run from. He forces himself to stay, but he can’t hold Sam’s eyes.

“Hi,” Sam says, and Gabriel can hear the little smile there. “Need something?”

Gabriel looks up at Sam and glares, stepping away from the wall in Sam’s direction. “I want to ask you something, and I’m going to, but – just, give me a straight answer, will you? Don’t play it off, don’t indulge in your fucking man-pain, just answer it.”

Sam drops any kind of pretense that he wasn’t paying absolute attention to the words coming out of Gabriel’s mouth. He turns his whole body towards Gabriel and sits on the end of his bed so that they’re at eyelevel with each other, because Sam is too tall to have to look up Gabriel even when he’s sitting. He sits there and he holds Gabriel’s eyes, all of his attention and focus utterly tuned into the archangel, and Gabriel forces himself to breathe.

“Why are you acting like all of us are dying?” Gabriel asks, and words come at calmer and clearer than he’d expected them to, and thanks Dad for small miracles.

Sam looks surprised. “What d’you mean?”

“Damnit, Sam –“

“No, no, I’m serious,” Sam says and he’s frowning. “Am I? I haven’t really been thinking about it – I mean, I know that it’s likely that we’ll all go out in a haze of angelic fury, but, I haven’t been expecting it twenty-four-seven.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Oh,” Gabriel says, and he can feel himself just shutting down under this horrible revelation. “ _Oh._ I see.”

“You…what?”

Gabriel closes his eyes and turns around for a second, running a hand through his hair, and turns back around. “I’ve been reading this wrong. It’s not that you think _we_ are going to die; it’s that you think _you_ are going to die. Whatever the hell you’re planning, you’re expecting us to come out alive while you let yourself die in some sort of sacrificial hero play because you want to redeem yourself for being lied to and misguided and trying to do the right thing even if you’re methods were fucking screwed and because you were taken advantage of while at your lowest –“

Gabriel isn’t even cognizant of the words coming out of his mouth, they’re just flowing, his thoughts rambling out of his head and he _hates_ that he does this with Sam, that his barriers just melt and fall away when it’s just the two of them. He knows Sam so well, and he always forgets that Sam doesn’t know him, that this millennia-old torch he carries for him is forever unrequited, because Sam never lives long enough to really fall in love with him, and in this case, Gabriel has fucked up enough shit that Sam literally _cannot_ love him back. It’s a giant, blurry, bloody mess, and Gabriel should leave, right now, because he doesn’t know how to deal with the revelation that Sam is planning on doing something heroic and suicidal.

Sam stands up and Gabriel moves away and presses himself against the wall, but Sam just follows and does the worst possible thing. He hugs Gabriel. He wraps his arms around Gabriel, pins the archangel’s arms to his sides and hold him against his chest, big and warm and steadfast. He steps backwards towards the bed and sits down again, forces Gabriel to sit with him so that he’s in Sam’s lap, curled against Sam, who seems perfectly willing to wrap an arm around Gabriel’s waist so he can’t run and let his other hand pet his hair, and it’s all so horribly, perfectly familiar, this way of Sam’s to comfort him that Gabriel just _breaks._ His shoulders twitch and he gasps, pulling Sam as close as possible to his skin, wishing that clothing wasn’t between them, less out of a sexual desire and more in a need to be as close as humanly possible to Sam’s utterly incomprehensible compassion and faith and _care_. His arms rope themselves around Sam’s neck, where he buries his face and breathes, while his nails dig into Sam’s shoulders, too hard and too violent, he’s probably giving Sam bruises in the process, and Sam just takes it and holds him tighter and says nothing about the few hot, bitter tears that fall from his eyes.

When Gabriel calms down enough that he starts to hate himself for breaking like this in front of Sam _again_ , feels himself tightening up and tries to draw away, Sam audibly frowns and tightens his grip, and while it’s nothing compared to the strength of an angel or even hard enough to bruise, it’s enough that Gabriel knows Sam’s going to be pissed if he leaves. “No,” Sam says quietly, and Gabriel has no idea what he’s taking about for all of five seconds. “I wouldn’t do it because of _redemption_ , though that might be something I’d get out of it. I’d do it because it’d be the only possible choice left, and it’s starting to become that. We’re running out of options, and out of time. We have to make a plan and make do with what we have, and what we’ve got is the Ring of War, the vessels of Michael and Lucifer, hunters, and you. I only see one, maybe two different plans to make.”

Gabriel doesn’t want to hear the plan. Not right now, while his head hurts and his chest is doing the achy thing that isn’t his and he wants to let go of everything and just sleep for a while. “You need to tell us,” Gabriel mumbles into the collar of Sam’s shirt, eyes shut. “Tomorrow morning, you _need_ to tell us.”

He can feel Sam nod. “I will,” he promises, and the hand Gabriel had forgotten was in his hair slides down his back, warm and wide. They have a moment of quiet, where Gabriel is still gathering himself fully and Sam tries to help by rubbing his back, and Gabriel actually drops off for a moment before snapping his head up.

Sam smiles at him, and there’s little too much residual sadness there to be playful, but it’s trying. “I thought angels didn’t get tired,” he says. Gabriel glares at him, tries not to scramble the fuck away when he realizes that they are _really_ close together, like wow, this hadn’t happened before and it really was not allowed to.

“We don’t,” he mutters, and tries to think of a way to extricate himself from the situation where he can go and mourn his pride and try not to start freaking out again in private. “But sleeping is nice.”

Sam’s smile morphs into something more genuine and fond at that. He lets go of Gabriel, who instantly slides to the right of Sam on the mattress, and then slides up the bed. He shucks his plaid shirt and his jeans and Gabriel wonders if he missed a few steps somewhere, but then Sam slides himself under the covers with a yawn, and reaches out to grab Gabriel, who falls into the blankets with him willingly. Sam smiles again and pulls him closer, cuddling Gabriel against his chest, and it occurs to Gabriel that he hasn’t see Sam smile this much in ages at the same moment he realizes that he is so, _so_ fucked come morning.

* * *

Sam’s plan is shit. It is absolute utter horse shit and Gabriel hates that it is the only thing they have left. Dean hates it, Bobby hates it, Ellen and Jo hate it, Cas hates – they all  _hate_ it, but they all also know that they have nothing left. Nothing at all. Unless they managed to trick Michael and Lucifer into rings of holy fire somehow and forced them to work out their problems, but that was even less likely to work than Sam’s shitty plan.

The horsemen are hard to find, but they manage. Famine goes easiest of the last three, and Pestilence goes hardest. Death just rolls his eyes and hands over his ring, and asks Dean to give it back when everything is done. That gives them all a little hope – if someone is going to end up being left alive, then surely there must be some kind of positive outcome, right?

Sam says yes and Gabriel feels their connection bend under the weight of Lucifer’s grace, feels how angry it makes his older brother, even if there’s nothing anyone can do to break that bond. Gabriel had _made_ Sam as a gift for Lucifer, so long ago that it felt like a dream, only half remembered. It was a connection that would never break, one that Sam would almost never be aware of.

The plan goes a little haywire for a while. Sam can’t fight Lucifer back at first, and Team Free Will spends three days frantically running around and stalking the angel radio, trying to figure out where the final showdown between Lucifer and Michael (Sam and Adam) was going to take place. It’s a cruel twist of fate and irony that it all ends where it began – an old cemetery in Kansas, of all places. Dean drives there as soon as they find out, tears out of the house before anyone can stop him. Gabriel takes the rest of their little ragtag team after they spend some time making molotov cocktails out of holy oil, which he is very, _very_ careful not to touch.

When they arrive, Michael has been fighting Dean – well, he’s been beating Dean to a pulp – and Castiel just launches his cocktail at the eldest of the angels, who only has a moment to take in the sight of them before he explodes, temporarily discorporated. Lucifer glares and tries to snap his fingers to kill Castiel, but Gabriel pushes Cas and Bobby and Ellen and Jo off the playing field and halfway around the world before he can.

Lucifer cocks his head. “Is that you, Gabriel?”

Gabriel leans against the side of the Impala and lays a hand of Dean, who vanishes. “Hey bro,” Gabriel replies cheekily, giving a little wave. “What’s up?”

Lucifer sighs, sounding like a much put upon older brother and that makes Gabriel _angry._ But he holds his expression of impish snark, and waits. “Why are you even here, brother? It’s not for him,” he says derisively, jerking his head towards where Dean had been, and the movement looks so aborted in Sam’s body. His face twists for a moment, and Gabriel feels a sharp burst of pride. Sam is fighting hard enough that Lucifer can barely contain him, and that’s no small feat.

“No, I’m not.” Gabriel stands up straight, holds himself tall. Something falls into his hands – not a sword, but a dagger, slivers of sleek silver in each hand.

“Michael, then,” he says decisively, eyeing the blades as his own falls into his hand. “No other would drive you to fight me.”

“I haven’t followed Michael in a long time,” Gabriel’s voice is quiet and calm and deadly still. The wind that had only minutes earlier been whipping up the grass has stilled to nothing and a storm hovers on the horizon.

“Why are you here then, Gabriel?” Lucifer presses. “What could drive you out and make you come here?”

Gabriel just looks at Lucifer for a moment, and in the same instant Lucifer steps towards him, his bond to Sam snaps back into full being with a terrible roar. Gabriel can feel the rage that’s tearing through Sam’s soul, vicious and terrified and so utterly pissed. He can hear the words as Sam screams them at Lucifer, drives him back with sheer force of will and the kind of protective instinct that Gabriel hasn’t seen since the Mystery Spot, when Sam was fighting for Dean.

 _You will not touch him!_ Sam howls, manhandles Lucifer into a bright little ball in the pit of his heart. _You will not lay a single fucking finger on Gabriel, you sonuvabitch –_

Sam’s body falls down, and as he pulls himself back up, Gabriel helps him to his feet. They don’t say anything, but something terrible is passed between them, an unspoken knowledge of how things used to be and how they could have been, this time. Sam squeezes Gabriel’s hand tightly and lets go of him, stepping a few feet away.

“Help take care of Dean for me, will you?” Sam asks, voice shaking with the effort of holding Lucifer down. “And take care of yourself, too.”

Gabriel savors this last time he’ll ever be able to see Sam. The last time in _forever._ “I will,” he promises.

Sam throws the rings on the ground, says the incantation. He looks back at Gabriel, as if to say something else, but then Michael shows up, screaming at Sam to let destiny take its course, and Sam just wraps his arms around the body of his little brother and they fall.

The Cage closes. The connection sputters and dies. Gabriel walks over to where the Horsemen’s rings are sitting, harmless on the grass. He falls to his knees and holds them in his hands.

The calm breaks. The storm rages. Gabriel thinks that they’ve hit the end of the script that Dad had written. They’ve hit the last page. This is _The End._

Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder. “Gabriel?”

“It’s over,” Gabriel says, sounds as hollow as he feels. “It’s over.”

Castiel’s hand tightens. “You loved him.” It isn’t a question.  Gabriel nods, once. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds so painfully empathic, like he knows what it is to love someone who can never love you the same way in return.

“Me too,” Gabriel says, and lets his brother haul him to his feet.

* * *

Gabriel receives a frantic message from Castiel, three weeks after the Apocalypse ended. It isn’t more than just a frantic repetition of Gabriel’s name, but it’s loud enough to break through the darker-than-usual bubble of melancholy he falls into on Tuesdays. (And how fucking ironic was that, Sam had died on a Tuesday.) He flies from the graveyard – he really is a masochist – to Castiel.

Castiel, it turns out, is in Bobby’s house. So is Dean. So is God.

Gabriel feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. “What the _fuck?_ ” He’s glad he’s picked up humanity’s eloquent phrases, because nothing is more accurate than hard, crude language.

“Hello, Gabriel,” God says, and He looks at the floor. Or rather, His mouthpiece (a mousy looking middle aged man who had obviously done too many drugs in his life) looks at the floor.

Gabriel doesn’t even know what to do. “Hey Dad,” he says, because what the hell is he supposed to say?

“I – uh, I guess I have some explaining to do.”

“You could say that,” Gabriel says coldly, and Dad meets his eyes with a small wince. “Maybe you can start with why you’re here, right now.”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah. Well, we’ve sort of hit the end of the script,” God says, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, you guys tore up the ending, but everything is still finished. There’s free will for everyone now. I’m gonna take Michael and Lucifer to a little pocket Universe soon, have some family counselling. Oh, and I’m putting you and Castiel in charge of Heaven.”

Gabriel squints at him. “Raphael?”

“Yeah, he’s coming with us to the pocket Universe. You’re not though. Heaven needs an archangel looking after it, and right now, the only who’s capable of that without mass slaughter is you, and the only angel I know of that is definitely capable of leading and organizing Heaven in a free will kinda way is Castiel. And you, but you don’t really like leading, so, yeah. Heaven. Leaving it to you guys.”

“No script?” Gabriel presses. “No secret prophecies?”

“Well, there are the tablets. But you shouldn’t need those.” His face twists. “And if you come across Metatron, I’d save yourselves a lot of trouble and just off the bastard. Oh, and one other thing, cause I’m gonna go real soon – the Watcher, Gadreel? Set him free. Actually, whoever is imprisoned in Heaven? Set them free and tell them what’s been going on.”

Gabriel nods. “Bye, Dad.”

God gives a little wave, and vanishes without as much as a sound.

“That was…disappointing,” Castiel says, staring at the spot where God had been with a blank expression.

Gabriel snorts. “Welcome to the land of fathers,” he says wryly. “They suck.” He glances over at Dean, who is glaring holes into the spot where God had stood. “Something crawled up your ass too, Winchester?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but then God drops back in. “Oh, right, sorry, I’d almost forgotten.” He clicks his fingers together and suddenly, Sam and Adam are standing in Bobby’s living room, clutching each other in panicked fear, wild eyed with the look of people half-crazed. God grins, and disappears again, except this time he does it with a loud _crack._

The sound makes Sam twitch, and Adam crush himself closer to Sam, who adapts to the movement as though it happens frequently. They both look around the room, frozen, animals trapped in a cage.

“Sammy?” Dean breathes, and Sam’s eyes move to his brother’s.

“Dean?”

Dean lets out a sound terrifyingly close to a sob, and wraps his arms around his brother, around _both_ of his brothers. They both hug him back, and there’s a circle of Winchester there for a moment, before Sam is drawing back and moving away, reaching out to hug Cas, and then hug Gabriel, leaving Adam in contact with Dean.

Gabriel can feel Sam again as soon as he touches his skin, feels it crackle into existence like a live wire, and Sam smiles against the side of his head like he can feel it too. It isn’t quite the same as it was before – more fragile, made of glass instead of steel, the way it was in the beginning – but it’s _there._

The world seems perfect, or much better, than it was three weeks ago. At least for the moment.

* * *

The screaming startles everyone.

They’d had a bit of a party, drinking the night away, laughing and recapping what had happened and mostly just reveling in the fact that they had won, and their losses hadn’t been losses after all. Sam and Adam had passed out on the couch next to each other, legs touching. No one had mentioned the constant contact, and everyone was afraid to ask what had happened in three weeks (a few months, hell time) that made them so afraid to leave the other alone. Ellen and Jo had taken Sam’s room, since no one was willing to move him or wake him, and Dean had fallen asleep on the floor beside the couch with a few pillows and a blanket. Gabriel and Castiel were sitting in the kitchen, still drinking, and completely unfettered by said alcohol.

And then Sam had let out a small noise, a quiet, pained moan, before opening his mouth and _screaming._ It was the sort of sound that made blood chill and hair raise, that invoked pity for whatever miserable creature was making that sound, and it was coming from _Sam._ Gabriel is there instantly, trying to shake Sam awake, but he only grows louder, thrashing in Gabriel’s grip. Dean stumbles to his feet, shouting. Adam’s eyes open, eyes wild with fear for a moment before realization replaces it.

He leaned over to his half-brother, laid a hand on his shoulder, and just said, “Sam.” Calm, clear, normal tone. As if he was getting Sam’s attention from across the room to ask about something completely mundane. “When’s your birthday?” he asks.

Sam blinks his eyes open, the sound cutting out. “May,” he says, voice scratchy. “The second of May.”

Adam nods. “And who’s Dean?”

“Big brother,” Sam mumbles, blinking a couple times. He looks like he’s in a trance.

Adam nods again. “We’re fine, Sam,” he says quietly, reaches out and holds Sam’s shoulder. Sam takes a deep breath and nods, slowly, and then sits up. He looks around, as if the sight of everyone standing there, terrified, concerned, is completely surprising.

He looks to Adam, visibly cringing. “Was I screaming?” Adam adopts a similarly pained expression, but nods. Sam mutters something incomprehensible, and sighs. “Awesome.”

“Sam,” Dean says, very quietly, but his voice is strung tight with worry. “What the hell was that?”

“Depends,” Sam mumbles. “How far gone was I?”

Adam shrugs. “You’ve been worse. You managed not to break any ribs this time.”

Dean’s eyes snap to Adam, and Gabriel can only stare, open-mouthed, at Sam. “The hell do you mean _this time?_ ”

“The Cage isn’t Hell, Dean,” Sam says, looking at floor. “It’s Hell-adjacent, but it’s not part of Hell. Time…is much faster. Faster than a decade in a month.”

Gabriel’s mouth goes dry. He hadn’t known this and he had a feeling the answer was going to terrify him. “How long?” he asks, and he can’t put any volume into his voice.

Sam glances at Adam, who shrugs a tiny bit. “I lost count after five,” he says, a little helplessly.

Sam sighs. “You’re no help,” he says chidingly, and Adam affords a cracked smile. “I lost count after eight, but it was longer than that, definitely.”

“Eight _what?_ ” Dean presses frantically. “Days, weeks, months?”

Sam winces. “Try centuries.”

Gabriel forgets how to breathe. Dean looks like someone’s just shot him in the chest. He seems to struggle for a moment, and then looks at Adam. “How come you aren’t as bad as he is?”

Adam looks riddled with guilt. “I held on longer than Sam did,” he admits.

“Held on to what?” Castiel asks, and Gabriel starts, because he’d nearly forgotten his brother was there.

“Michael,” Adam says, looking at the ground. “I thought it would be better to hang on for a while, but Sam let go before we even stopped Falling.”

Dean and Gabriel and Castiel all exchanged glances. They only understood half of what Sam and Adam were saying. “Perhaps you should explain from the beginning,” Castiel suggests. Sam flinches, like he’d wanted to avoid this conversation from the moment it appeared, but he nods.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks. “Alright, fine.”

Gabriel snaps up some chairs and replaces Bobby’s couch with something more comfortable. Sam and Adam look momentarily startled, but they don’t say anything. Everyone sits in silence for a moment, and then Sam sighs. “I guess I’ll start, then. So, you all know what happened first – I overpowered Lucifer, dragged Michael and Adam into the Pit with us. After the door shut behind us, I forced Lucifer out of my body, which _really_ pissed him off, and landed in the Cage. Except, y’know, we didn’t really _land_ , but we…stopped falling, I guess.” Sam struggles for a moment. “It’s hard to describe. There wasn’t really anything for the first couple centuries except Michael and Lucifer fighting. Adam was at the center point, so he didn’t feel any of it – think the eye of a storm – but I was caught up around the edges and got stuck in the backlash.”

Gabriel can imagine that. He remembers watching the Cage being constructed, a space barely big enough to contain one archangel. He can imagine what it must’ve been like to be caught in the middle of a battle that should have ended the earth, shoved into something the size of a broom closet. He can see the scars on Sam’s soul, if he looks for them, and they look _old._ More than eight centuries, Sam had said. Gabriel was beginning to suspect that Sam’s time in the Cage should be counted in millennia, not centuries, and oh, wasn’t _that_ a terrifying thought.

“Since I was hanging onto Michael,” Adam continues, “I wasn’t feeling much of it for a while. It was sort of like a roller coaster, except it lasted for two centuries, and you weren’t sure if you were ever going to able to get off. But Michael flung me off, eventually – I’m not sure he realized I was still there until then, honestly – and I was _not_ prepared for that. It took you…two decades to find me?” his voice rose in question, looking to Sam, who shook his head.

“Three,” Sam corrects. “I could tell you weren’t there in the center anymore, so I had to get up and go looking for you. And once I did we sort clung to each other for another century or so.”

“So we were three centuries in and Sam was…shielding me?” Sam shrugs in response to Adam’s look. “I dunno what he was doing. But he was taking most of the G-force so I could have time to adapt to all the Grace. But then Michael and Lucifer stopped fighting and we got separated again, for another decade. I found Sam with Lucifer, being _toyed with_ ,” he says the words with a large amount of venom. “But eventually Lucifer got bored and went off to find Michael, and I put Sam back together and we went off to hide.”

“Lucifer found us again, later,” Sam continues. “But we fought him off for a little while, and his pride was wounded that a couple humans could keep him at bay, so he went off to lick his wounds. We kept running, after that.”

“We got caught, occasionally, but we always managed to slip away.” Adam turns a look at Sam, and Dean recognizes it as the look Sam leveled at him sometimes, when he was being particularly stupid and self-sacrificing. “And Sam, you fucking moron, got himself captured more often than not, and I always had to get him out. Which is why he screams, and I’m the one who calms him down. He had it worse than I did, and he protected me from the worst of it.”

All of them are quiet for a long few minutes, and then Sam stands up with a blank expression. He touches Adam’s shoulder, and then Dean’s, as he walks past them out the front door. Dean stands to follow him, but Adam snatches his arm and shakes his head. “Let Gabriel,” he says, and Gabriel’s head snaps to the kid from where he’d been staring at the door because _how in the fuck –_ “It’s written all over your face,” he says smartly, and Gabriel glares.

“Winchesters,” he mutters.

“I’m a Milligan, not a Winchester.”

“You’re a Winchester,” Gabriel repeats, and then walks outside. Sam isn’t in plain sight, but Gabriel finds him easily enough, sitting in the back seat of a junker in Bobby’s garage. His face is still blank and expressionless, and the moon has bleached him so pale that for a moment Gabriel thinks he looks dead.

He slides into the backseat next to Sam. Sam doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but then he takes a deep breath and practically falls into Gabriel, contorts himself so that his head is buried in Gabriel’s hair, his shoulders shaking as the tears fall. Gabriel wraps his arms around Sam, murmurs soothing nonsense into his skin, rubbing little circles on his hipbone with his thumb. Sam lets out a small, pained noise and Gabriel just holds him tighter and runs fingers through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Gabriel,” Sam breathes, voice cracking under pain and fear and bone-aching _relief._

“I told you it was a stupid plan,” Gabriel says quietly, directly into Sam’s ear. “You never listen.”

Sam laughs, once, but it’s genuine. “I know,” he says, removing one hand from where it’s tangled around Gabriel to rub at his face. “But it was worth it.”

Gabriel wants to argue that _no, it wasn’t, not if it means I have to see you so broken_ , but he holds his tongue. “Debatable,” he says instead. “But you have time to convince me.”

Sam laughs again, and Gabriel delights in the sound of it, even if it is a little too tired and dark to be happy. “I’ll do my best,” Sam promises, his hold tightening around Gabriel, nuzzling into his hair as if to remind himself that Gabriel was there. They sit quietly for a long time, just holding on to each other, Sam taking comfort in Gabriel’s presence. “It was you, y’know that?”

“What was?” Gabriel asks, tilting his head to look at Sam. But his eyes are closed, his head tilting backwards.

“You helped me fight back Lucifer, in the graveyard,” Sam says, quietly, eyes still shut and his face relaxed. “And again, in the Cage. He always threatened you, promised to hunt you down and murder you to hurt me, but he never seemed to realize that you were always what helped me drive him back long enough for Adam to get me out of there.” He smiles, a tired, bitter thing. “I think he’d been alone down there for so long that he’d forgotten what kind of power love has.”

Gabriel freezes up, goes stiff in Sam’s arms, and Sam just holds him tighter. “Don’t you dare run away from me,” Sam mutters into his hair. “I’ve fought too hard to get back to you, so don’t you dare run away.”

“Sam –“ Gabriel tries to start, no idea what to say but something about convincing Sam that this was a _bad idea_ , but Sam shushes him.

“Stop,” he says, and his eyes open, rimmed with red but determined. “Don’t even try to talk me out of this. I haven’t fallen in love with you a million times just to let you run the one time we can actually stay together, so just – don’t.”

Gabriel’s entire world stops. “You remember,” he breathes.

“Not all of it,” Sam admits, “but a lot of it. The longer I’m alive, the more pieces I get back. And I’ve lived longer now than I ever should have been able to, so – yeah. I remember.” He tilts his head down and kisses Gabriel’s hair, very gently. Gabriel takes a deep breath, tries to stabilize himself and fails miserably. He ends up letting out a noise that sounds very much like he’s been punched, and curls against Sam’s chest, who happily supports him, holds Gabriel while he takes in that Sam _remembers._

“I’m sorry about the first time,” Gabriel whispers. “I was cruel. I _am_ cruel, but then especially.” And that was true. He’d toyed with Sam horribly the first time they’d found each other, hadn’t realized the significance of this human, the child of one of his pagan followers, hadn’t known that he was the one Gabriel had created. That didn’t make it any better, of course, because cruelty such as Sam had been put through that time was uncalled for and inhumane, nor did the regret he felt after Sam had died at the hands of Dionysus’ Maenads make up for it. The tenderness he had felt towards Sam, the pity, didn’t make up for it either. Nothing could. He’d – he’d been so very, very cruel, and he’d never been able to apologize.

Sam lets out a long sigh. “I forgive you,” Sam murmurs, and a weight is lifted from his chest. Part of that ancient guilt is gone, and Gabriel lets out a long sigh, relaxes against Sam. The world seems to fall quiet as they do, and while Sam drops off into sleep, Gabriel stays awake, and watches over him.

* * *

_Six Months Later_

Sam answers the phone as it rings, stretching over Gabriel to grab it from where it lay on the nightstand. The movement makes Gabriel grumble and grab for him as soon as he lays down again, pinning Sam to the bed for use as a human pillow. Sam only grins, and answers the call. “Hello?”

“ _Sam! Hey, sorry, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”_

“It’s fine, Adam,” Sam says with a small laugh that slightly dislodges Gabriel. “The only one you woke up was Gabriel.”

 _“That doesn’t exactly inspire me not to worry_ ,” Adam retorts dryly, and Sam smirks.

“So, what’s up?”

“ _Found a hunt you might be interested in.”_

Sam hums a little, pushing Gabriel’s hair into alignment and detangling it with his fingers. Gabriel purrs a little, which is distracting, because Sam really is trying to listen. “Oh? What is it?”

“ _Pretty sure it’s a necromancer. Maybe two. Oklahoma. I can email the details to you, if you're interested.”_

“Sure,” Sam agrees. “We’re between jobs right now anyway. How're things with you?”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Adam’s grin is audible. “ _I never knew Latin classes could be so much fun. Or learning Japanese._ ”

“Bobby convinced you, huh? He tried to teach me and Dean, but we couldn't get the hang of the alphabet, much less sentences.”

Adam laughs. “ _I've gotta go. I just thought I'd call you before Biology, let you know.”_

“Alright. We’ll talk to you later, Adam.”

“ _Bye Sam.”_

Sam tosses his phone into the sheets, effectively losing it. Gabriel peels an eye open, looking very much like a pretentious cat. “How’s Adam?” he asks, voice lazy and sleep heavy.

“Good. He’s got a job for us. Necromancers in Oklahoma.”

Gabriel hums a little. “Dean will be over the moon. He _loves_ witches.”

Sam grins. “Dean would rather have a necromancer than a witch. Necromancer means zombies.”

Gabriel nuzzles his face into Sam’s side, and nibbles a little on the skin there. “Nothing beats a good old fashioned zombie horde,” he agrees, and then bites down and sucks on Sam’s skin. He doesn't let go until Sam whines and grips his hair to pull him off, leaving the skin crimson and wet, both of them grinning.

“You're insatiable,” Sam grumbles, even though he’s smiling, and Gabriel laughs.

“You love me,” he teases, and pushes himself up onto his hands for a kiss, warm and sweet.

Sam rolls them, pushes Gabriel down into the sheets. “Yeah, I do,” Sam agrees, and Gabriel’s grin grows wider. Sam pushes the covers out of the way and slithers down Gabriel’s body, lines up his fingers with the bruises he’d left there last night and presses on them, just a little, and Gabriel hisses, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open a little. That reaction never ceases to amaze Sam, never fails to make him press just a little bit harder and force Gabriel to groan, low and dirty. Sam latches onto Gabriel’s hip bone and bites down, relishing the sound of Gabriel’s breath catching in his throat.  He tips his head a bit to the left, releasing his hip, and sinks his mouth over Gabriel’s mostly hard cock without any kind of preamble. Sam’s gotten sort of good at this, has learned exactly how to bring Gabriel to the edge and tip him over without ever fucking him, has learned how to do that many, many times until Gabriel is begging and pleading to be fucked with only broken gasps and half-formed words, completely out of his mind with sensation and stimulation.

But not right now, Sam thinks regretfully, and forces himself to pull off after a few minutes. Gabriel’s face is flushed red, lips swollen from how he’s been biting them, holding back most of his noises. Sam reaches over to the table for lube and slicks up two fingers, happy to find that Gabriel is still perfectly loose from last night. He indulges for a minute, though, stretches and scissors his fingers to brush against Gabriel’s prostate and make him moan.

“Sa-am,” he whines when Sam pulls his fingers away, only to groan as Sam presses in, hot and hard and slick. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, legs wrapping around Sam’s waist and pressing back against him. “Fuck, Sam, will you just fucking _move –_ “ Gabriel is cut off by a strangled sound as Sam snaps his hips forward roughly, hands digging into his hips.

Sam’s pace is brutal and aching and Gabriel fucking loves it, reaches up to lope his arms around Sam’s neck and kisses him, messy and broken for sharp gasps whenever Sam hits his prostate dead on and forces stars into Gabriel’s eyes. Sam growls something low and filthy under his breath and then shifts them, so Gabriel is in his lap and Sam’s fucking up into him, hands still gripping Gabriel’s waist and holding him there. Gabriel grinds back down onto Sam, panting between their skin, letting out broken little moans every other thrust or so and he’s _so close –_

Sam’s hand wraps around his cock and pulls once and Gabriel lets out a quiet cry as he comes between them, shuddering and hanging bonelessly in Sam’s lap as Sam follows after him with a nothing more than a long, low sigh. They stay there for a moment, Gabriel’s head leaning against Sam’s shoulder, Sam’s hands now gentle on his waist. There’s come drying between their stomachs, but Gabriel doesn't much care about it, or about the liquid dripping out of his ass around Sam’s softening cock.

Sam lets out a content sigh and tilts his head down to kiss Gabriel’s hair. Gabriel smiles against his shoulder, and moves his head back, looking up expectantly, and Sam kisses him with a laugh. “C'mon,” Sam says, smiling, prodding Gabriel in the side. “Shower? And then we can go get breakfast.”

The lure of food is enough to get Gabriel out of bed, and they roll through their morning routine with a familiarity it takes married couples decades to achieve. Dean and Castiel are waiting for them in the diner, sitting together on one side of the booth, drinking coffee, while Dean unsuccessfully tries to persuade Castiel to eat something that isn't a breakfast sandwich.

“C’mon, Cas, look!” Dean says as Sam and Gabriel approach, pointing to the menu. “They've got blueberry pancakes and everything!”

Castiel gives a long-suffering sigh. “No, Dean.”

“Please?” Dean switches tactics, trying to use puppy dog eyes.

Castiel’s expression turns amused, and he meets Dean’s eyes with a tiny little laugh. “No, Dean.”

“Let Cas eat his sandwiches in peace,” Gabriel says scolding, swatting Dean with the menu he’d just picked up. “Cas doesn’t get on your case about all the burgers that you constantly order.”

“That’s ‘cause Cas eats burgers all the time too,” Dean fires back, glaring without any real heat. Sam and Castiel share looks over the table, and roll their eyes. _Brothers_ , they say wordlessly.

“So, we've got a job,” Sam says, and Dean stops bickering with the Holy Messenger.

“Really? Where'd you find the time to pick out a job?”

“I didn’t,” Sam says with a shrug. “Adam called. Necromancers, in Oklahoma.”

Dean grins. “Alright!” He turns to Castiel, grinning widely. “We get to fight _zombies_ , Cas,” he says excitedly. Sam gives Gabriel an _I-told-you-so_ look, which Gabriel ignores. “How is Adam, by the way?”

“He’s good,” Sam says, and then smirks a little. “Bobby’s teaching him Japanese.”

Dean groans. “Urgh. That was a nightmare. You remember that? We were, what, ten and fourteen, and Bobby pulls out this fucking _ancient_ book, right –“

Sam listens to the familiar story with a heartfelt smile. He’s never wanted to be anywhere more than he’s wanted to be here, right now, with Gabriel’s foot hooked around his ankle, and Dean sitting across the table from him, happy and healing from the shitty hand life had dealt them, and Castiel next to Dean, listening to this insight into their childhood with rapt interest. Their lives aren't perfect, not by a long shot, but their lives are good, and this time, when Sam dies, he knows it'll be for good, and that he’ll have Gabriel right there beside him.

And in Sam’s books, this life is as close to perfect as he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: while I generally feel that Lucifer wouldn't have harmed Sam in the Cage, for the purpose of this fic I wrote him that way.


End file.
